


Anti-kink: Sex tape

by ash_carpenter



Series: Anti-kink [26]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Crack, M/M, Sex Tapes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-26
Updated: 2015-07-26
Packaged: 2018-04-11 08:42:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4428836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ash_carpenter/pseuds/ash_carpenter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Well, the archiving of my previous anti-kink fics finished and I've finally put out with a brand new one! </p><p>The boys make a sex tape. They're not quite as good at it as Dean seems to think...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Anti-kink: Sex tape

**Sex tape**  
  
  
“Dude. I’ve just had the _best_ idea. I’m a freakin’ genius!”  
  
“Oh, crap.”  
  
“What? You don’t even know what it is yet!”  
  
“I don’t really need to. I already know that it’s going to end in disaster, humiliation or physical injury. But, please, go on.”  
  
“Ye of little faith. Don’t be so negative, Sammy.”  
  
Sam sighed, closing the lid of his laptop and giving Dean his full attention. “Okay. Astonish me with your brilliance.”  
  
“Well, we never have enough money, right? And we’re totally hot.”  
  
“Okay…” Sam couldn’t really see how Dean was going to link the two pieces of information. And certainly not in any way that Sam wanted to touch with a ten foot pole; right now, horrible fleeting images involving stripping on stage were threatening to intrude.  
  
Dean rolled his eyes as if Sam were being incredibly slow. “Well, isn’t it obvious?”  
  
“Uh. No.”  
  
“Sex tape, Sam! Sex tape.”  
  
Dean looked so unreasonably smug that Sam just blinked at him for a moment, mouth hanging low on its hinges. “Sex tape,” he repeated slowly.  
  
“Yeah. It’s perfect, see. We get to have lots of nice, sweaty, smoking hot sex – and other people pay for the privilege of watching us!”  
  
“Right… Okay, let’s pretend for one minute that I actually want anyone to see us having sex. How are they going to pay for it? I mean, where are we going to sell it?”  
  
“On the internet, obviously. We’ll put it on a porn site and charge people to view it.”  
  
“Incredible though this seems, I’m not sure you really understand how porn on the internet generally works.”  
  
“What do you mean?”  
  
“Well, when was the last time that you actually paid to watch any?”  
  
“Yeah, well I don’t pay for it. But I don’t have any money. Hence why we need to make a sex tape.”  
  
Sam ran a palm over his face. “Are you seriously suggesting we try to sell an amateur sex tape to a subscription site?”  
  
“Maybe. Or, ooh, we could do a live one! Like those Stageit shows that musicians do.”  
  
“Or not,” replied Sam firmly, horrified at the mere suggestion. It also sounded like the kind of thing one might get arrested for – and he already had quite enough on his rap sheet, thank you very much.  
  
“Look, we can work out the details later. First step is making the tape.” Dean waggled his eyebrows.  
  
Sam sighed. He wasn’t sure how keen he was to preserve him fucking his brother for posterity, but he had to admit that he’d quite like to see Dean on video – and he _was_ damned horny. Besides, Dean was clearly determined, which meant that he wouldn’t shut up about it until he got what he wanted; Sam might have the market cornered on puppy-dog eyes, but Dean led the field in being so fucking annoying that you eventually just caved.  
  
“Fine. But, seriously, I don’t think anyone is gonna pay to see it.”  
  
“Have you looked at us recently? Of _course_ they will. Now, why don’t you go get yourself all pretty for the camera, princess?”  
  
“Now?!” It wasn’t that he didn’t want to have sex – he pretty much always did when Dean was on offer – but they’d just finished a bitch of a hunt and he could have done with some quick, easy, hassle-free fun. If past kinky experience was anything to go by, then making a sex tape would be none of those things. Including fun.  
  
“Yes, now. Chop, chop.”  
  
“Ugh, I can’t believe I’m doing this,” muttered Sam, rising to his feet and heading towards the bathroom. He turned back and raised an eyebrow at Dean. “What, you’re not getting ready?”  
  
“I’m always camera-ready, Sam. It’s a burden, being this good-looking, but somehow I manage.”  
  
“You know, I think I’d rather punch you in the face than fuck you right now.”  
  
“So? Isn’t that how you usually feel?”  
  
Dean had a point.     
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
In hindsight, it might have been better if they’d jerked off before their first attempt, or at least not picked a time when they hadn’t screwed for four days due to a particularly arduous hunt.  
  
At first, when Dean shoved him off the end of the sofa they’d ended up sprawled over and started babbling about checking the tape, Sam was deep into an orgasm coma and couldn’t even remember what he was talking about. Then it all unfortunately came flooding back and he sighed, searching around for his jeans and accidentally tripping over the boxers still hanging off his ankle. They’d definitely bumped into – and then slid off – a table sometime during the middle, so he mooched over there to see if he could find his pants or maybe his left sock.  
  
“Come on! That can wait,” said Dean, collapsing on the nearest bed and waving Sam over. He was wearing Sam’s shirt, flapping loosely as if he was about to set sail, and for some unfathomable reason Sam’s sock was in his back pocket.  
  
“Dude,” said Sam aimlessly, rubbing a hand over his face and yawning. Damn, that had been some good, pipe-clearing sex. But his head was all warm and muzzy now and all he wanted to do was crash like a caveman.  
  
Dean patted the bed. When Sam didn’t immediately join him, he frowned and carried on patting in what Sam was sure was the most annoying way anyone had ever patted anything. “All right!” snapped Sam, shuffling over and dropping down, stifling a smirk when he ‘accidentally’ sat on Dean’s frantically patting hand.  
  
“Ow! For fuck’s sake, Sasquatch,” groused Dean, ignoring his blatantly insincere apology. “Okay, you ready?”  
  
“Yeah, whatever.”  
  
Dean looked unreasonably excited as he pressed ‘play’ on his cell’s video function, grinning like an idiot. Sam just hoped that he didn’t look ridiculous on film. And that his dick looked nice and big, preferably bigger than Dean’s. Not that he was going to say that.  
  
He needn’t have worried.  
  
They stared in confusion at the screen, before tilting their heads and realising that the phone had toppled over when they’d banged into the nightstand during their first handsy and over-enthusiastic kiss. While they could hear all sorts of embarrassing grunts happening in the background, all they could see was the corner of the headboard, a chunk of wall and a strip of ceiling.  
  
“Hrm.”  
  
“Do I really say ‘Dean’ that often…?”  
  
“This won’t do at all.”  
  
“What the hell is that squelching noise?”  
  
“We’re going to have to try again. You ruined it, you big klutz.”  
  
“Me?! You almost sprained your wrist trying to get your hand in my pants.”  
  
They’d barely managed to get into the swing of their argument when the view on the video changed, Dean’s thumbs fumbling all over the lens before his squinting face made an appearance and then the screen went black.  
  
“Uh…”  
  
“Wait, was that it? How long was that?”  
  
Dean pressed a button. “Four minutes and twenty-eight seconds. And at least a minute of that was us getting re-dressed.”  
  
“Oh.”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“Guess we were a bit…efficient.”  
  
“Pretty glad we weren’t doing a live show, now.”  
  
Sam nodded his agreement. As if that wouldn’t have been embarrassing enough on its own, their less than impressive performance would really have capped it off.  
  
“Well, that was a bust,” sighed Dean. “Still, at least we’ve taken the edge off now. So we can try again.”  
  
There was a silence and Sam turned to look at Dean, raising his eyebrows when he realised that his brother was staring at him with determined expectation.  
  
“What, _now_? You’re joking, right?”  
  
“Does it look like I’m joking? Take off your boxers. And your sock.”  
  
“No!” said Sam, slapping away Dean’s hands when they started tugging at what was left of his clothing. “In case you didn’t get the memo, we’re both in our thirties. If I wanted to fuck again – which I don’t – I could probably get it up in a few minutes, but it would take like an hour to come.”  
  
“So?”  
  
“So? So… Who can be bothered? And who the hell wants to watch people pounding away forever? It’s boring.”  
  
Dean looked shocked. “I can’t believe you said that. You can’t be bothered to fuck me and it’s boring?”  
  
“That’s not what I said! I just think we need to wait a little bit. I don’t know why you’re acting like I’m fifteen or something.”  
  
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because you just came in like three minutes?”  
  
Sam flushed. “Shut up. So did you.”  
  
Dean bit his lip. “Yeah… Think I’m gonna delete the evidence of that.”  
  
“Good call,” said Sam as he levered himself up with a grunt and staggered towards the bathroom.  
  
“Can I at least film you in the shower?”  
  
“No!”  
  
“Why not?”  
  
“Well, firstly, because I’m going to take a piss, not have a shower.”  
  
“Can I film that?”  
  
“What? Ew, no!”  
  
“Why not?”  
  
“Because it’s gross. And I’ll be…”  
  
“What?” asked Dean, already smirking as Sam’s ears went a little pink.  
  
“You know. Floppy.”  
  
Dean laughed as Sam slammed the door – and bolted it, just to be sure.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Sam had begun getting suspicious early that morning when Dean had announced that there was a possible rugaru case in Philadelphia, looking absolutely ecstatic about it and grinning like a loon.  
  
The reason for his cheerfulness was revealed twelve hours later, when they pulled up at _The Boudoir_ , approximately the least classy place they had ever stayed in. And that was _really_ saying something.  
  
Everything was red and gauzy, and either heart-, rose- or cock-shaped. Okay, Sam allowed that the curious patterns on the bedspread, drapes and lightshades probably weren’t specifically supposed to be cocks, but then again he couldn’t imagine what they _were_ supposed to be. And why were they poking at the roses? Sam wondered with a sinking feeling whether the roses might not in fact be vaginas.  
  
There was a mirror on the ceiling.  
  
“Dean… Please tell me this is some horrible accident and you didn’t deliberately book us into the Whore of Babylon’s bedroom?”  
  
“As I recall, the Whore was actually a bit of a priss.”  
  
“You’re missing the point.”  
  
“It’s just set dressing, Sammy. If you’re gonna make a sex tape, you might as well do it properly.”  
  
“No-one’s gonna be able to take us seriously. Hell, _I’m_ not gonna be able to, either. I feel grubby just standing in this room. Can you even imagine what a black light would show in here?” He shuddered.  
  
Dean rolled his eyes. “However, fucking in alleyways, truck stop bathrooms and freeway turn-outs is the height of class?”  
  
“That’s different.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“Because we never made a tape of it and posted it on the internet, Dean!”  
  
“ _We_ didn’t, no. I’m pretty sure those Japanese tourists on I-80 did though.”  
  
Sam scowled. “This is stupid.”  
  
“Yeah, well, I’m sure you’ll get over it when I’m stuffing your ass.”  
  
“Delightful though that is, why do you get to do the stuffing?”  
  
Dean scoffed. “Yeah, like I’m gonna bottom on tape where anyone could see.”  
  
Sam rolled his eyes. “Right. Wouldn’t want anyone to think you were gay or anything.”  
  
“Exactly.”  
  
Sam stomped off for a shower, muttering something about overcompensating, deluded assholes, and emerged twenty minutes later to find Dean adjusting the camera with as much concentration as if he was shooting Schindler’s List. After watching his brother fiddle with the camera, walk over to the bed, ponder for a bit, circle back to the camera and then adjust it by half a millimetre, before beginning the entire process all over again, Sam cleared his throat.  
  
“All right, Spielberg. You do realise that it’s just porn, right?”  
  
“ _Just_ porn? You shut your mouth.”  
  
Sniggering, Sam moved over to Dean and stopped him from performing his fifteenth imperceptible adjustment. “So, are you ready to make a smutty tape?”  
  
“I think so, yeah. Why don’t we… Wait, what are you doing?”  
  
Sam paused halfway through dropping his towel. “What?”  
  
“Why are you taking that off?”  
  
“Uh… I thought being naked might be helpful for the sex?”  
  
“Oh, Sammy.” Dean shook his head with fond condescension. “Sammy, Sammy, Sammy. As if I need more proof that you don’t watch enough porn. There has to be a lead-up!”  
  
“A lead-up? To the incestuous ass-fucking? What exactly did you have in mind?”  
  
“Well, why don’t you put the towel back on, and then you can be the motel guest who’s just got out of the shower, when you find the _incredibly_ hot maintenance guy in your room…”  
  
Sam stared at his brother for a moment. “Oh my God. You’re actually serious.”  
  
“Of course I’m serious. You have to appreciate the value of a good cliché.”  
  
“Are you going to make wrench puns?”  
  
“It’s a possibility, not gonna lie.”  
  
Sam ran a hand over his face, thinking once again that he really needed to try to control his lust for Dean better, because he ended up following his dick into the most ridiculous situations.  
  
“Fine,” he sighed.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
“Oh. Well, hello there,” said Dean, pouting excessively and not looking in Sam’s direction, since he was standing close to the camera. Everyone knew that you couldn’t look at the camera. “I’m sorry to interrupt your shower time, but I was told that your pipes need cleaning…”  
  
Sam barely resisted the urge to face-palm himself.  
  
Stepping into the shot – well, mostly blocking the shot, really – he sidled awkwardly towards Dean. “Uh, yes. Hello. My pipes do indeed need, uh, attention. You should clean them. The pipes, I mean. My pipes. With your…pipe cleaner.”  
  
Perhaps ad-libbing was a mistake.  
  
Dean inclined his head to the left. Sam stared at him. Dean did it again several times, increasingly forcefully, soon accompanying the bewildering motion with a stilted little hand wave.  
  
Finally, Sam hissed, “Dude, what?”  
  
“Move,” murmured Dean out of the corner of his mouth.  
  
“Huh?”  
  
“You’re in the way, y’idiot!” snapped Dean, before clearing his throat. “Uh, I mean, why don’t you make yourself comfortable on the bed while I get my tool out.”  
  
“Your too… Fine. I’ll just sit…here. Then.” Sam lowered himself slowly, eyes going wide when he realised that Dean had slipped around the back of the camera to check the shot. Left alone, he tried to strike a natural pose. After clasping his hands between his knees, crossing and uncrossing his legs, leaning backwards on one elbow and resting his elbows on his thighs, he finally gave up and sat bolt upright, staring at the ceiling and clearing his throat.  
  
“Are you ready?” asked Dean.  
  
“Yes, De… Um. Maintenance man.”  
  
Dean swaggered back around into the shot, stopping in front of Sam with his legs spread wide and his crotch thrust obscenely forwards.  
  
“Do you see anything you like in my toolbox?”  
  
Sam closed his eyes, cringing a little. “Why don’t you stop talking and…fix…stuff.”  
  
“Like your dirty pipes?” purred Dean in his very seediest voice, with an accompanying leer. Sam found his brother so attractive that he was almost able to convince himself that it was hot, rather than ridiculous. Almost.  
  
“Please stop talking about my pipes.”  
  
Dean rolled his eyes, but thankfully shut up. He suddenly pushed Sam back on the bed and straddled him – and, yeah, Sam could definitely work with that. Sam grabbed hold of his ass, scowling with indignation as his hands were slapped and suddenly Dean wasn’t in his lap anymore.  
  
“What are you doing?”  
  
“Shh. Act natural. I’m just checking that the camera angle is right,” stage-whispered Dean. Even more loudly, he added, “I’ll be right back. Just checking that all my equipment is working, if you know what I mean.”  
  
Sam sneaked a glance at Dean and his furrowed brow, wondering what would constitute ‘natural’ in this particular scenario. As Dean jiggled the phone, inching it to the left and right, swearing when he knocked it over, Sam flopped spread-eagled on the bed. Should he touch his dick or something? Biting his lip in consternation, he reached slowly for the front of his towel, then bottled it at the last minute and turned the gesture into a stomach-scratch instead. His years of pretending to be an FBI Agent really hadn’t equipped him for this.  
  
Finally, having put the phone back to exactly where it had started, Dean seemed satisfied.  
  
“Now, you just lay back and let the expert work,” said Dean as he sidled back towards Sam, shedding clothing on the way and cracking his knuckles. Quite frankly, Sam was embarrassed that he had a semi.  
  
While attempting to eye-fuck Sam, flash his ass at the camera and remove his jeans all at once, Dean face-planted in a heap at the end of the bed. He immediately popped up like a jackrabbit, clearing his throat and looking over his shoulder, presumably hoping that the camera hadn’t noticed.  
  
Sam was even more embarrassed when his semi not only didn’t have the decency to wither away, but actually plumped up a bit. Had Dean somehow conditioned him to be turned on by idiocy…? Sam wouldn’t put it past him, the asshat.  
  
Sam mysteriously lost a little of his mounting indignation when Dean finally stood between his spread legs, naked and gorgeous with a flushed and leaking hard-on. Swallowing, he propped himself on his elbows and looked up at his beautiful brother, finding that little Sammy took his lead and perked up to full attention. Sometimes, although he knew not how, he seemed to forget that Dean was the most stunning person he’d ever seen.  
  
“So, you got a socket where I can stick my wrench?” purred Dean with an eyebrow wiggle that he no doubt thought was seductive.  
  
Suddenly, Sam remembered how he sometimes forgot about Dean’s attractiveness.  
  
Irritated, embarrassed, irrationally scared rigid by the stupid camera, Sam groaned and said, “Asshole.”  
  
Dean’s eyebrows shot up, an amused smirk tugging at his mouth. “Well, as sockets go, that’ll do fine.”  
  
“What?” snapped Sam, but he barely had time to register Dean’s deliberate misinterpretation before his brother was all over him. It was a full-on assault, and Sam had to admit that Dean’s plush mouth really made it hard to stay mad at him sometimes. As his towel was ripped away and he was licked, nibbled and sucked into babbling incoherency, he finally forgot all about the camera and just held on for the ride.  
  
Some indeterminate time later, Sam was unbelievably actually heading towards orgasm, when Dean stilled completely.  
  
“Wha…?” was Sam’s questioning complaint, which turned into a bitching-out string of expletives when Dean pulled out completely and wandered off. “Hey! Does this job look finished to you?”  
  
“Just changing the view,” replied Dean nonchalantly, playing with the camera again. “Go up by the headboard.”  
  
“What? Why?”  
  
“You know what pornos are like. The camera always suddenly cuts away and the people are on a different piece of furniture or in a different position. Why don’t you get on your hands and knees? I’ll do you doggy style.”  
  
The worst part was that Sam was too horny to even protest or point out what a moron Dean was.  
  
However, after the third time that Dean called a sudden halt to the action – and one that happened to coincide with Sam being about ten seconds from busting a nut – Sam just couldn’t take it anymore. He snatched hold of Dean’s ear with one hand, his balls with another, and wrapped his calves around his brother’s for good measure to ensure that he couldn’t get away.  
  
“I swear to God that if you don’t let me come I am going to turn this into a snuff movie.”  
  
Dean yelped, trying to prise Sam’s hand off his sac. “Okay, alright! Jeez, calm down. I’ll wrap it up, okay?”  
  
“Good,” snarled Sam. Fucking finally.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Editing the tape was a bitch. Names were called, punches were thrown, stitches were none-too-gently administered and then ‘accidentally’ poked.  
  
By the time that all of the undesirable parts had been edited out – those being the parts where someone’s ass looked too fat, where someone’s dick didn’t look big enough, where the camera was only capturing random unidentifiable body parts, where someone said “brother”, where someone was spitting someone’s hair out of their mouth, where someone’s turned-on expression looked ridiculous, where someone got threatened and where the acting just generally sucked donkey dick – they were left with forty-seven seconds of usable film.  
  
Not that it stopped Dean cobbling together a badly-edited…and badly-acted…and just plain bad, really…porn video. He even pretended to be proud of it when he fired off a “taster” to a few racy porn sites, where Sam assumed – and quite frankly _hoped_ – it would be immediately consigned to the ‘deleted’ folder.  
  
When they astonishingly weren’t presented with offers of vast riches for the full video, Sam soothed Dean’s dejection with a strategic blow-job and breathed a sigh of relief as they consigned the whole sorry affair to their growing pile of ‘should have known better’ sexcapades.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Two weeks later, they were taking a break from research to watch some new viral vids on YouTube. In the ‘Recommended’ section was a new clip called “Hot brothers epically fail at making porn” (which was worrying for a variety of reasons, not least of all because it implied that the internet was indeed run by particularly black-humoured demons, as they’d long suspected).  
  
“Uh…”  
  
“We shouldn’t click that.”  
  
“Why? It’s just a coincidence. And, anyway, we didn’t epically fail.”  
  
“Have I ever mentioned that you have these occasional bursts of naïve optimism that I find pretty scary?”  
  
“Shut up. It’ll be fine.”  
  
It wasn’t fine.  
  
After sitting through the cringe-worthy display and then reading the offensive comments (one of which appeared to be from Crowley, although would he really write LOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOL?), Dean cleared his throat and slowly closed the lid of the laptop.  
  
“Wow.”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“We’re not good at that, huh?”  
  
“No.”  
  
“I think we may have just ruined sex for me.”  
  
“I think we may have just ruined sex for everyone.”  
  
“We totally suck.”  
  
“I’d love to disagree with you, but now there’s actual video evidence to back you up.”  
  
Dean scowled. “Stupid sex tape.”  
  
  
  
THE END


End file.
